the PDF of her book - National Aphasia Association

4 Ruth Codier Resch Without Utterance:
Schlepping our bags now, we take a shuttle to the medical center, a
small building in the center of the huge oval that is the many separate airline
terminals of JFK.
In the hallway I argue wordlessly with the doctor, who refuses to let
Donna in the examining room with me. There is a cold glitter in me as I grasp
to her arm, agitated out of my mind. “Her! … Me!” I point at her and then me,
then us together. I manage the two pronouns, but I can’t tell him anything
else. I can’t imagine why he doesn’t want a talking person there with him. I
won’t know what to do with what he says. I must have her to speak for me
and to hear. Under my pushy silence I am wild with fear.
He is clearly irritated. I’m insistent, lean into her, hold on. Finally he
motions us to a small, bare room, an old wood desk like teachers used to
have and a simple cot, no examining table. A cursory neurological exam. I’ve
watched better in pediatric neurology clinic. Indifferent he says, “You’ve had
a neurological event. Go home and call your doctor.”
Just how would I do that, this going home and calling my doctor? I
imagine walking into the office in my apartment. It is dark. I can barely see my
wide teak desk in the gloom, or the phone on top of the answering machine
sitting on the far corner. I wonder where my doctor’s number is. For that
matter, what is my doctor’s name?
I imagine dialing a number and getting it wrong over and over … and
over. Suppose I do manage to dial, and I hear a voice at the end of line.
“Doctor’s office.”
THEN WHAT? Sitting in examining room, I burst into tears. What
could I say . . .
without words?
Donna and the doctor have left. On the cot, I huddle into myself, alone,
more and more frantic. A nurse comes in, “Why are you crying!” Her voice
is curt, unkind. I want say, “The doctor hasn’t told me anything about my
condition. ‘Neurological event’ isn’t specific, and he has given me a plan I
can’t do.” Fear and anger try to meld, but I can’t speak to the awful frustration
inside.